Hey guys, Theodore here. Unfortunately, I’ve got a real axe to grind!

Have you ever told a funny joke at a party? It’s a great feeling! Have you later happened to hear someone else tell the same joke? And they got more laughs than you? And it made that redhead laugh so hard she had to take a drink before you could get the Rophenol ready? It’s enough to drive a man legally insane!

I can’t shake the feeling that the same thing is happening with this whole Mitt Romney “binders of women” thing.

Allow me to elaborate. The year was 1973. I was having a drink, staring out the window, when inspiration struck. I grabbed a binder from my study and headed to my deep-freeze downstairs. I picked out a few dozen women fingers, then found a glue stick and some glitter — and the night turned fun!

It became a neat little hobby of mine. I made frequent stops to the craft store, always on the hunt for new women and ways to display them. It made me more picky about my victims, actually, and a better murderer as a whole. I would check the skin clarity of potential casualties before anything else, because not even a beautiful gold-leaf trim can make a disembodied nose look better if it’s got acne on it. I’m Ted Bundy, damn it, not some settled-in septuagenarian using dollar store lace and melanoma-ridden shoulder skin.

I digress. What I’m trying to say here is that the internet reacted to Romney’s comments like it was the first time someone has put a women in a binder. It wasn’t.

I don’t want to act like I deserve everyone’s recognition, but certainly I deserve more than this bozo. I can guarantee you he’s never once in his life had to peel off the painted fingernails of a recently chopped hand. He’d probably go for it right away, instead of letting the rigor mortis set in. How are you going to get leverage that way? You’re going to break the nail, Mitt!

It’s horrifying.